


Faith (In the Wrong Man)

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crisis of Faith, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e23 Alpha and Omega, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Needs A Hug, Sam Needs Forgiveness, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 11x23. Mary's back, Sam's been rescued, but Sam is not okay. Amongst a torrent of self doubt, depression, and physical pains, Dean is there to help Sam realize that he's loved. With bonus comforting Mary, too. Written for Fanfic Authors Appreciation Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith (In the Wrong Man)

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a 3 A.M. Fringe marathon, where my angst over Peter translated into angst over Sam. I've had a bit of a block lately, but hopefully I've moved past it! Enjoy <3

Sam brushed past Dean and was halfway down the stairs before the door to the bunker had even finished closing. He was moving as fast as he could, despite his lingering limp, and a moment later, he disappeared down the hall, like the touch of his family burned.

 

Dean swallowed down his frustration. In his stomach, it burned away into worry. There had to be a reason for this, for the funk Sam’s gotten into since Dean rescued him and brought him home to Mom.

 

Speaking of. Mary put her hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean startled at the intrusion. It was still so alien. He hasn’t quite adjusted to her presence yet. He melted into the touch and she took away her hand. “Go,” she said, giving him a quiet grin and tipping her head toward the empty hall.

 

Dean nodded at her, putting all the gratefulness he could muster into his eyes. He turned and jogged after Sam, passing door after door until he reached his brother’s. 

 

He pushed in unannounced, the door swinging widely open. He stood under the threshold and cleared his throat. All the words died inside him once he saw Sam shoving random clothing articles into a duffle with shaking hands, his back all tensed up and his face pinched as hell, holding back a deep well of emotions.

 

Dean slowly closed the door behind him. Sam didn’t look up at the click. Dean coughed. “Sam,” he tried, treading into the room on his toes, wary of the bottled-up storm before him.

 

“I just--I need some time to think,” Sam gritted out, tossing a lone sock into the top of the bulging bag. He placed his hands on top of the mass and put all of his weight into it, shoving it down and quickly zipping over the mess the moment he could. He turned and hefted a backpack Dean hadn’t noticed onto his shoulder. He kept his head low as he headed to the door, grabbing the duffel and avoiding Dean’s gaze.

 

Dean stepped back to the door like he was dancing across coals. Sam finally looked at him when he reached the door. Sam held back a sigh. “Dean, let me through,” he said, his voice devoid of all energy.

 

Dean clicked his tongue, pursing his lips. “Nuh uh,” he said, watching the fight die a quick death in Sam’s eyes. That wasn’t fuckin’ good. “Tell me what’s wrong, dude. You’ve been off since we got you back.”

 

Something about what Dean had said sat wrongly with Sam, Dean could tell. It was plain in the twitch of hurt that flashed across Sam’s face. Sam blinked at him, struggling to keep his face neutral. “Can I leave if I tell you?”

 

Dean couldn’t help a scoff. “No, c’mon, Sammy, we can fix this, alright? What’s with you?”

 

Sam didn’t respond. Dean refused to budge. 

 

This was utter bullshit. Dean was so not down for losing Sam only fucking days after he got him back, after they both got out of that hellhole. Sam wasn’t even fully healed yet. His back had got to be killing him. “You won’t even talk to Mom,” Dean blurted out, and oh, fuck, that struck a nerve.

 

“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” Sam snapped, tossing his duffel onto the ground. A moment later, the backpack was swung off his shoulder and flung across the room. Sam was a twitchy mass of energy and emotions, and Dean had to find a way to safely defuse him. 

 

“Sammy,” Dean sighed. “Sit down.”

 

He didn’t like to use his Dad voice that often- which was funnier now than ever because now Sam had two helicopter parents instead of one- but the stakes were high enough. It looked like it still worked on little brother, too, ‘cause Sam bit his lip and fell onto the bed, hunching over himself.

 

Dean got all up into his space, sitting down pressed against him. He nudged Sam’s elbow with his own. “Where the hell did that come from?” he asked, staying quiet, staying gentle. “Of course she wants to talk to you.”

 

Sam mashed a fist against his eye, his jaw is tense and ticking. Dean wrapped an arm around him and waited. After a moment, Sam settled into his touch, and a moment after that, Sam took a breath.

 

“It’s more like-” Sam cleared his throat when his already-thin voice broke. “I don’t deserve to talk to her.”

 

All of Dean’s protective instincts flared up and he opened his mouth to protest that but Sam made a quiet, shuddering noise, full of unspoken pain, and Dean shut up. He tightened the arm that was around Sam’s shoulder and did his best to listen.

 

“My whole life,” Sam started off, voice wavering on the edge of a precipice, “I’ve. I’ve tried to be the kind of person she’d be proud of, you know? I only knew her from the few things I could wrestle outta you and Dad. I knew she was...good, beautiful, smart. I thought maybe she’s watching, and I wanna be someone she’d love. If she got to know me.”

 

Dean couldn’t help but cut in. “She already loved you, Sammy,” he murmured, but Sam roughly shook his head at that, the hands on his knees curling into fists. 

 

“I thought if I got good grades and helped people around me, she’d be proud. Then I thought if I kept going after Jessica, if I stayed by your side, she’d be proud. Then I thought if I could just prevent the apocalypse from coming, if-if I could just get Lilith, maybe she’d be proud. And I just-”

 

Sam’s eyes spilled over and he sniffed, tilting his chin up and staring across the room, lost in thought. His eyes were narrowed in pain, his brows pushed closely together. Dean’s eyes were getting glassy, too, ‘cause fuck, he couldn’t help but empathize heavily with Sam, couldn’t help but feel the tight knot in Sam’s chest form in his own heart.

 

“I’m not,” Sam continued. “I’m not someone to be proud of. I’m not someone she could love. I do the wrong thing every single time. And when I’m without you, I’m nothing. She knew you, Dean. And I see you two together. She loves you so much. But I. I’m not a part of that.”

 

Dean squeezed Sam’s shoulder and shook his head. “That is such bullshit, kiddo,” he said. “Of course you are. We all make mistakes, okay? And you’ve been forgiven for all of yours, I promise.”

 

“No!” Sam barked out, with enough vehemence to surprise Dean. Sam moved out of his grip and stood again, pacing in tight little circles around the room. “No, you’re wrong.”

 

Dean frowned. “Sammy-”

 

Sam whipped around to face him, his face blotchy and covered in tear tracks. His eyes were wide open and Dean’s breath was stolen at the look in them. He hadn’t seen Sam beaten down like this since… a really fucking long time ago. Lifetimes.

 

“I have prayed every day of my life,” Sam croaked. He was barely capable of speech. He was about to lose it all, but he was trying so fucking hard to keep it together. Dean wished he could help. 

 

“I have prayed for forgiveness. I’ve tried to atone for my sins. Every day of my life I regret the things I’ve done. I know I’m hard on myself, I know… but I thought I might be able to get better if I knew God loved me. If I knew God forgave me.”

 

Sam wavered on his feet and Dean grabbed him by the hand, ushering him back onto the bed. Sam leaned against him. 

 

“I’ve been asking God for a sign for so long. And--and I met him, Dean. And he heard all my prayers, Dean, I know he did. He didn’t answer them. He didn’t say anything to me. If anything, he didn’t care. And that’s when I realized. That was my sign. I’m not forgiven. I never will be. I don’t deserve happiness. You deserve it. You deserve to be with Mom. But I don’t. So you’ve got to let me go.”

 

_ “Fuck _ no,” Dean growled, feeling Sam stiffen against him. “You’re wrong, but even if you were right, Sammy, even if in some crazy universe God did that on purpose, then he’s a sack of shit. God was wrong, Sammy. He was wrong not to answer you.”

 

Sam pulled up from Dean’s shoulder and gave him a look of such utter disbelief that Dean almost wanted to laugh. He met Sam’s gaze head on. “Fuck him, Sammy. You’ve got too much faith in him. You know what you’ve gotta focus on? Me. I forgive you. Have faith in me, buddy. And guess what? Mom does, too. Because she has been watching over you and she is proud of you. She’s told me. She’s worried about you. Hell, she’s probably gonna come in here after me and talk to you. She’ll tell you herself. She loves you so fucking much. We both do.”

 

Ah, fuck it. Dean felt a tear drip down his cheek and he pulled Sam into a constricting hug, squeezing the air right out of him. He felt Sam’s entire body shake under his hands, but at least it was shaking. At least it was warm. At least he was here.

 

Dean would do anything to keep it that way.

 

“The only person who needs convincing is you,” Dean rasped into Sam’s shoulder. “You never loved yourself. And I--I don’t know why. You’re the kindest, smartest fucking person I know. You’re a god damn gift to this piece of shit world. But we’ll fix that, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t see you were hurting. I’m sorry it’s been hard. But I’m here. And I always will be.”

 

Dean felt Sam’s arms draw up to his shoulders and hold on tight, clinging to him. Sam sniffled over and over again, a few sobs breaking out of him. The crook of Dean’s neck was hot with tears. 

 

Dean hung on with all his might. “Stop convincin’ yourself that you’re not forgiven,” he urged, low but fierce. “You’re not going anywhere, Sammy. It’s gonna be okay.”

 

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of his brother. It loosened something from within him, and he felt an indescribable conviction that he got through to Sam. He could feel Sam’s soul harmonizing with his, as cheesy as that was, and he knew deep inside him that Sam wouldn’t leave. That they won’t ever be able to leave each other ever again. They were incapable. They were one thing, flawed and fucked but still in one piece. That had to mean something.

 

Sam pulled back after he ran out of tears and the sobs drained away. His face was a mess and his hair even worse, but the smile he gave Dean was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Dean couldn’t help but reach forward and put a hand around Sam’s jaw. His other hand came up and brushed Sam’s hair into some semblance of order.

 

“I’m not sure I believe you,” Sam whispered, still smiling, “but I’ll try, okay? I will. I’ll try to get better.”

 

“Good.” Dean felt lightheaded with relief, crazy with it, almost. He nodded over and over again, keeping Sam in his touch, in his space. “That’s good.”

 

Sam nodded back and Dean took his hands away, as much as he hated to do it. Sam stood up, hobbling over to the duffel and putting it on the bed. He unzipped it and started taking things out and placing them back in drawers. The message was clear--he was asking for space. Dean got it.

 

He stood up. He slapped Sam on the back once before turning to the door. He paused before he left. “You better come out of this cave for dinner, you hear?” he said. “I’m gonna make some fuckin’ hot dog mac n’ cheese. I know you still love that stuff.”

 

A laugh was surprised out of Sam and he nodded. Satisfied, Dean turned and slipped back out into the hallway, carefully closing the door behind him. 

 

He headed back to the main room. His headspace was quiet, coming back from the edges of Sam’s breakdown. He was lost in thought and concern as he walked over to the table where Mary sat. She got up as he approached.

 

“He’s okay,” he said, answering the question in her eyes. She smiled, relaxing. Dean wasn’t sure if he could handle another conversation like that just yet. “I’m gonna prepare some dinner,” he told her. She nodded, letting him go.

 

When Dean came out of the kitchen later with bowls of steaming, cheesy macaroni, it was to Sam and Mary sitting closely together, facing each other, knee-to-knee. Mary had a hand over Sam’s heart and Sam was leaning into the touch. Mary leaned forward and kissed Sam on the forehead, wrapping him up in a careful hug. Dean wished Sam weren’t so fragile, weren’t so shattered inside. 

 

When the hug broke apart, they both looked over to him and smiled. He set the macaroni down and cut a stupid insult at Sam, earning an eyeroll.

 

He watched Sam eat, feeling better with each bite he took. Kid needed more meat on his bones. When Sam finished his plate. Mary cooed over him, dumping the rest of her food in front of him and ordering him to eat. Sam blushed, but raised his spoon and took a bite.

 

Mary and Dean locked eyes. Yeah, he was certain. He let out the breath he was holding.

 

Sam will be okay.

 

They all will.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh, first off, I didn't see 11.21, 22, or 23 all the way through. So apologies if I read into those episodes wrong--I only know them from friends, Tumblr, and Superwiki, haha. Big ol' thanks to my friend, Bella (gothpandawincest on tumblr) for reading through it. 
> 
> I dunno, guys. I just. Feel like Sam's hurt needs to be addressed on the show some more. I'm pretty sure he's struggling through a lot of personal hurts and could use a solid, brotherly conversation/hug like we used to get in the earlier seasons a lot. So this came about. The therapy's mostly for me :)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Any comments are love <3 <3 <3


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